


Honeymoon

by loquaciousSkeptic



Category: Hiveswap
Genre: Ambiguous Quadrant, Angst, Character Study, F/F, F/M, Ficlet, Vampire Bites, genderless reader, nonbinary reader, self indulgent once again, woohoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27267130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loquaciousSkeptic/pseuds/loquaciousSkeptic
Summary: I was listening to the Honeymoon album by Lana Del Rey today and suddenly this came to me. It is best if the following songs on the album are paired with reading the ficlet: Freak, Art Deco, Salvatore, Swan Song. Rated T; there's no explicit sex but there are some suggestive descriptions. Happy early halloween >:)
Relationships: Lanque Bombyx/MSPA Reader, Lanque Bombyx/Original Character(s), Lanque Bombyx/Reader, MSPA Reader/Lanque Bombyx, Original Character/Lanque Bombyx, Reader/Lanque Bombyx
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Honeymoon

“You’re not mean, you’re just born to be seen; you want to be wild.”

Your words dance their lithe digits around this heartstrings as he seeps into how much they mean to him. How much he wants them to not be true. How much he just wants his liberty.

“A little party neVer _hurt_ anyone, and that’s Why it’s alright.”

He sinks his hands into your hips, gripping you fervently. He rocks his hips adjacent to yours just a few inches apart on the dance floor, and you place your hands on his shoulders. They inch their way towards the sides of his face, and their warmth evokes a wince from his perfect face, the grimace oxymoronic with his beauty.

“You want _more_.”

The world seeps away for a minute, it’s just you, him, the azure ocean, the amethyst sky. The onyx glint in his stunning pupils, pulling you in like a marionette.

“We Were born to be free.”

He tilts his head into your fingers, into your warm palms, his core freezing. It absolutely kills you, and you feel like his dark and damning pain is slipping from every sable string of hair on his sacred head. He waits, and you wonder briefly what for-- later you realize it is for you to close the physical gap between you know on the floor. You step closer, and you gaze at the floor at your legs feeding into your small shoes in between his giant black shoes, and at the moment you remember how inhuman he is, how the desolate man you are unprecedentedly falling head over heels for is absolutely _alien_.

“A little party neVer hurt anyone... that’s what your friends say...”

“You try to ignore them, but you want more.”  


You press your chest into his, and the air pushes out of his charred lungs with a mournful shudder. 

“You want _more_.”  


He digs his fingers into the soft skin around your hips, his strength yet another reminder of his inhumanity. You cup the left side of his face with your right hand, and into your loving touch he leans; you gently run your thumb over his poignant cheekbone. He winces, typically stern and judgmental eyebrows curving gently upward. His mouth opens, the tip of his fangs resting gently but dangerously on his black painted bottom lip as he looks down at you, suddenly going cold again. He cocks his head the opposite direction, and you move your head to the left, mirroring him subconsciously. The tempo of the music locks in and the two of you rock together as he snakes his fingers around where your lower back meets your tailbone.

It’s as usual; he lets himself be vulnerable for an instance, but the moment he realizes this, he hardens. An agonizing cycle of numbness and nothingness.

“You’re crazy all the time.”  


Closer. His lips glisten in the light, and he removes a hand from your back agonizingly slowly, bringing it up to your face; he brings a garnet thumb to your chin and cocks your chin gently up at him, as his eyes dart to your completely bare neck.

“You’re looking to _score_.”  


You managed to forget, in your endless devotion, that in addition to being an alien, he is also a goddamn vampire.

“Shining like gunmetal...”

He purrs, leaning your face into his as his lips brush against you in a fit of yearning impulse. His face gets hot, and you feel it radiate from him to you as you lean in suddenly. Sometimes, it’s best to have it your way; you like to challenge him, because it keeps things fun and sensual.

“You Want _more_...”  


He repeats your words, and it brings a smile to your burning face as you imprint your kiss gently against his trembling lips. No tongue, as you’re in public. You have no clue if the people dancing around you are kissing with tongue, but it’s undignified to do so with this many people around.

“Cold and unsure...”  


He descends, after a single lock of the lips, into the crevice of your porcelain neck, and the suddenness of it shocks you, but after your initial reaction, you become the bittersweet putty in his trembling hands, the dizzy marionette of which he holds the gentle thin strings. His lips squirm against your neck as his tongue dances along the sacred flesh.

“ _Cacciatore_...”  


“Indeed I am, my sWeet. But With my kiss, am I not your saVior as Well?”  


His fangs brush your neck, and you bite the inside of your mouth and slump into his bite.

“I was so wrong to doubt your Medellin, tangerine dreams,”  


He sinks his bite deeply into your neck’s skin, and you brace your hands against him; one on his chest, the other around his back, gripping his shirt to suppress the mix of pain and pleasure of his fangs in your soft flesh. He grips your right shoulder with his left hand to steady his mouth on your innocence.

“Dying by the hand of a foreign man, happily.”  


You grin, tilted upwards, basking in the moment, as he returns from puncturing you and sucking out a bit of blood and looks back down at you, smiling in ecstasy in all his glory. He looks ruffled, his otherwise perfect face and lips streaked with your crimson.

“It looks lovely on you.”  


He licks his lips or your color and glances at you with dangerous passion, returning to the holes in your neck like they're his most indulgent and sticky vice, and he sucks out a bit more of your ambrosia. You let out a gentle moan, and he goes limp against your skin in lust. He comes back up for air again, glaring at you fervently, and he cups your face in his freezing palms. You scrunch your nose and put on your most disgusted expression, just to fuck with him.

“You could be a bad motherfucker, but that doesn’t make you a man.”  


“I could say the same to you, my dear.”  


“I’m not the one with the fangs and face full of blood I shamelessly sucked from a stranger, and in PUBLIC on top of all that.”

“HaVe you considered that maybe I _like_ being the bad guy?”  



End file.
